Crimes (MN) - Wind Thistle | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Crimes (MN)
• Wind Thistle

I started pacing by the scream. Tip toed in slippers maybelline.
Bleeding whistle, hollow melted age.
A tone beneath the vinyl floor. Above reluctant to the core.
A whispered metal, pinching, bitter blade.

Wind thistle. In awkward phase. Wind thistle. All I could say
The fog was potent as a whip. My body lifted from the tip.
A premonition, whether never made.